Chapter 3 - Mason Had Been Waiting For A Hayes
Mason was removed from the mess hall before anyone explained the wings.
Not arrested.
Not marched away theatrically.
A captain took him into another room to begin documenting what he had done.
Planting contraband in another soldier’s locker.
Public humiliation.
Unauthorized physical contact after I refused to hand over the insignia.
My punch would be reviewed too.
I knew that.
I wasn't going to pretend otherwise.
Alan and I remained at a table in the corner.
Someone brought me another tray.
I couldn't eat.
“You knew who I was before today?” I asked.
Alan shook his head.
“I knew Evan had a daughter in the Army.”
“You never looked her up?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I wasn't entitled to.”
Interesting sentence from a man who had apparently held my father’s wings for sixteen years.
“What happened?”
Alan looked toward the flask.
“Your mother died when your father was thirty-nine.”
I knew.
Car accident.
I was fourteen.
“Six months later he transferred here.”
I knew that too.
Barely.
Dad almost never talked about that year.
Alan continued.
“He was supposed to return to flight status.”
“Supposed to?”
“He had taken bereavement leave. Then additional administrative time.”
“Was he medically grounded?”
“No.”
“So?”
Alan looked at me.
“He didn't want to fly.”
That was new.
My father had spent my childhood talking about aviation like it was oxygen.
“He told you?”
“Not at first.”
Alan rubbed his hands together.
“First return flight, he walked out before briefing.”
“He panicked?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“Your father never used that word.”
Of course.
“What did he say?”
“That he couldn't put those on.”
Alan looked at the wings.
I followed his eyes.
“These?”
“Yes.”
I stared at the engraving.
My mother had given them to him when he earned his aviator badge.
I remembered the photograph.
Mom pinning silver wings on Dad’s uniform.
He had kept that picture in our hallway for years.
“Why give them to you?”
“He didn't.”
I frowned.
Alan corrected himself.
“He took them off and left them on a maintenance bench.”
“You picked them up.”
“Yes.”
“Then?”
“I told him I’d hold them until he wanted them.”
“Why hide them in a flask?”
Alan almost smiled.
“Because pilots gossip worse than mechanics.”
I could believe that.
“He didn't want people asking why his wings were lying in a hangar.”
“So you hid them.”
“Yes.”
“In an alcohol flask.”
“It was empty.”
“That worked out beautifully.”
Alan looked down.
“No argument.”
The flask was an old gift from Alan’s own father.
He carried it for years without putting alcohol in it at work.
It had a false bottom for coins and keepsakes.
He put Evan’s wings there.
Then forgot the flask was in his locker when inspection hit.
“Why didn't you just open it?”
Alan looked at me.
“Because then I would have had to explain why Evan Hayes’s wings were inside.”
“So?”
“So he had told me he wasn't ready for people to know.”
I stared.
“You took the hit for him.”
“For two days.”
“Two days cost you an aviation recommendation?”
Alan’s jaw tightened.
“Not by themselves.”
There was more.
I waited.
He eventually continued.
“Your father found out.”
“And?”
“He offered to explain.”
“Then why does Mason think he abandoned you?”
Alan looked toward the closed door where his son had disappeared.
“Because I didn't want the explanation Evan offered.”
“What did you want?”
Alan’s expression hardened.
“I wanted him to stand in front of the same people who had laughed at me and tell them exactly why I had the flask.”
I looked at the wings.
“And he wouldn't.”
“No.”
“Why?”
May you like
Alan looked at me.
“Ask him.”
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